Perfect Chaos
by ColdInfernol
Summary: Petty rivalries and bloody conflicts have grown common amongst the numerous city-states. Hidden amid the chaos and turmoil that is Valoran, an ancient grudge festers, patiently holding back until the time is right, until perfect chaos reigns the land. Note: OC-based plot. Rating to be confirmed. Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I do not own Riot or League of Legends.
1. Prologue: Darkness

**_Hey all. I'm new to this fan-fiction writing thing. Here's the prologue, something which came off the top of my head, and inspired me to start this story. The content's a bit raw; no graphic violence or anything like that though, and the next few chapters should lighten up the mood! The structure is hopefully not too confusing, but my style's there, and I hope you guys like it!_**

**___So, enough with the blabbering, onwards! I present... Prologue: Darkness. Enjoy!_**

* * *

A hiss of silver.

I screamed again - a pitiful, weak, quavering plea for mercy. The thin, tattered wreck which was my body shivered, trying in vain to stave off the evening chill. Another half-crazed, animalistic screech filled the air, and my drifting state of mind barely managed to attribute the sound to my own throbbing throat. I sank to my knees, exhausted, defeated, waiting for some response to my last cry of defiance.

Silence. It merely continued its relentless pursuit, eager for its prize, its prey, its feast. I could feel this cold presence rapidly close the gap between us. The end was nearing. I had chosen to stop, to submit, to end this hunt. All that was left to do was wait.

A hiss of silver. A flicker of red, of primal hunger.

And then, without warning, an instinctive will to fight on kicked in. A moment of crystal clear clarity. No! I would persist, struggle onwards, and perhaps... I would... survive. Spurred on by this irrational glimmer of hope and an uncontrollable sense of sudden, absolute terror, I spun around abruptly and resumed my reckless charge...

* * *

This one was a stubborn one, but it would inevitably end the same way. Not in pain, of course. No, that was a simply ineffective, superficial, insignificant technique - something the Pridestalker would use. Death? Ah, that was just a trivial side-effect which just seemed to affect most of my prey. Completely unintended.

No, what I utilised was something far more powerful, something embedded into the essence every sentient being. Well, every sentient being apart from myself.

* * *

A hiss of silver. A flicker of red, of primal hunger. A gust of darkness.

Branches whipped angry, red marks onto my exposed skin; thorns stabbed mercilessly through my clothes into soft, vulnerable flesh. The dense foliage which I had thanked time and time again for providing cover during my hunts now hemmed me in, hindering my movement and escape options. Despite my desperate plight, I couldn't help giggling at the irony of it. The hunter had become the hunted. Oft repeated, I'd never thought it would apply to myself, an orphaned Freljordian who had lived off nature for the last half a decade. Why me? I was a nobody. This predator - whatever it was - was wasting his time. I couldn't help it, and chuckled again.

* * *

This was getting surprisingly tiresome. It was time for the hunt to end. I doubled my pace, gliding gracefully through the pines and firs which smothered the snow-scape. I cast my senses outwards, tasting the reassuring emotion of Fear exude from my target. Still within my radar. Abruptly, it faded, to be replaced by something light-hearted... laughter?

What a pleasant surprise, I hadn't had one filled with madness in ages. The hunt was slowly but surely consuming his mind, and soon all that'd be left would be a well of raw, primal emotions. I shivered in anticipation. Fear. Delicious.

* * *

The victim sprinted desperately across the open stretch of northern grass, fists clenched, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Glancing quickly around, his face registered shock and horror at his surroundings, but this was unexpectedly cut short by a burst of unnatural laughter. He was going insane, and he appeared to realise that as well. Pinching himself so hard that a trickle of blood began to flow from his palm, the young man closed his eyes and fought to regain control of his mind. Sighing deeply, he looked at the twin ravines blocking off his left and right again. Impossible terrain.

The die was cast. It was time to see if the natural phenomenon known by locals as 'The Caverns' had an exit.

Stumbling into the underground system, he found the air, like last time, unnaturally clean and crisp. The orange-brown walls of sandstone and packed dirt and dust formed neat, rectangular passages, sloping gently downwards, curving this way and that in a massive, yet intricate pattern. It was most definitely man-made, though no one seemed to recall when exactly this cave system was created. No one had dared go deeper to find out.

Onwards he raced, hardly thinking. The only thing that mattered was to get away, as far away as possible, from that indomitable predator. When he finally stopped to allow himself a brief rest, he noticed that he was in a small cavern, lit dimly at the far end by queer, fluorescent stones. And engraved unmistakably on that far wall was a short line, elaborately carved into the sandstone.

_ Here, you shall find what you seek._

The young man swore. A cryptic message. How cliché. How useless.

Groaning in despair, he began surveying the bare cavern, searching for anything – a loose stone, a hidden lever, even another cryptic message – anything that could possibly provide him with _an exit._

Nothing. Only smooth, cold sandstone. The lone exception were a pair of long, strange, while at the same time, somehow elegant depressions, apparently a mould of some sort. Nice décor, but still fucking useless. Glaring at offending inscription, the young man allowed days of pent-up frustration and rage to take control; fear and madness were swept away in the face of such emotion. This could not be the end! This _would _not be the end!

He turned slowly to face the passageway, and all of a sudden, felt his face bathed in natural light. Natural light? Scrunching up his eyes in concentration, he glimpsed an opening in the distance, from the way he had come. The way he had come? Somehow, despite all the movement, a tiny part of the entrance remained visible to those in the farthest recesses of the network.

At that moment, it clicked. _You shall find what you seek. _And there was the exit. The entrance. They were the same. There was only one way to access the cave. The answer was to turn around. Running was simply delaying the confrontation, he realized, something which would eventually catch up. For there to be true hope, had to first give himself an opportunity to triumph. He would challenge the beast. He would fight, no matter how hopeless it seemed.

He was unaware that as he had formed these thoughts, the indentations behind him had started to glow; one, a dark crimson red; the other, a gleaming, refreshing turquoise.

_Finally. A worthy one._

The young man sensed, rather than heard, the two colossal entities awake from their age-old slumber. Within seconds, they were upon him, enveloping his soul, his very existence, in a blinding shroud of pure, arcane magic. At first, he fought back valiantly, using brute willpower in a frantic bid to force these unwanted intruders out of his being. But gradually, it ceased to be a struggle; both sides steadily melded together in unspoken, mutual understanding.

Luxuriating in the feel of his new-found strength, he inhaled sharply, and let the two spirits flow through him. The young man bared his teeth, and let out an exultant roar, his face a mask of righteous fury. He would bring the fight to this Hunter.

* * *

For the first time in its countless eons of existence, the Shadow Hunter felt... something.

It understood, at long last, what exactly each and every one of its kills had experienced. No, it wasn't empathy; it was something else. It had started off as a tiny, barely perceptible annoyance, a worm gnawing incessantly at its underside. Then it had escalated, growing quickly into a wild churning, unstoppable and unavoidable.

Fear.

The urge to survive.

It darted nimbly back the way they had come, easily negotiating the underground labyrinth. Yet deep down, it knew it would never truly be free anymore. The two entities behind it radiated power, power from the very beginning. Despite knowing it was futile, the Shadow Hunter instinctively slid out a pair of sleek metallic blades. Umbra blades, legend named them. Its meaning could not have been clearer in the ancient language.

Blood. Death.

It was time for a last stand, a finale, a tribute to millennia of hunting.

'...'

The Shadow Hunter twisted and dropped into a defensive stance, sensing a new colossal, spiritual being. It was nearby, and yet it wasn't.

'Help is not coming...'

Flexing its blades, the Hunter snarled. ''And I suppose you came all the way here to gloat?''

'Help is not coming...'

''So, what am I supposed to do? Find help? In this damn cave system?'' It'd lost its composure again, in as many moments. Not good. The best hunters always remained calm. Except... he wasn't the hunter anymore... he was the... prey.

'Yes. Find help.'

The Shadow Hunter froze, shocked. Was this voice offering him a way out?

'Embrace the darkness.'

The ground trembled, sending storms of dust and stone swirling from all sides of the narrow passageway. Then, just as it began, it disappeared. Blinking away the grit from its thin eyes, the Shadow Hunter saw that a perfect circle of black energy had appeared directly ahead. At each pulse, flashes of stark, almost decorative, detail appeared on the entrance of the portal, only to be instantly replaced an oppressive darkness, a writhing mass which breathed and sighed.

So mesmerising; so enticing. The Shadow Hunter was utterly captivated.

'Embrace the darkness. Cross over.'

The Shadow Hunter eagerly obliged, stepping confidently into a world of blackness. He was complete. This was the perfect hunting ground.

'Welcome. Enjoy. In this timeless plane, you are the sole Hunter.'

The new liege smiled with sinister delight and acknowledged its lord, this unknown being. "You have my eternal thanks, my lord. This is perfection."

The voice, cold and commanding as before, was indifferent to its words, and continued to speak.

'From now onwards, you are no longer the Shadow Hunter. May the world live to dread the wrath of The Eternal Nightmare.'

* * *

**_If you liked it, please review! If you hated it, please review as well! xD Just keep the comments constructive, haha. Much appreciated!_**


	2. Scarred

_**I've been reading too much and writing to little... guess the lack of reviews are a bit disheartening. So, please, please leave a comment! A shout-out to Back To Basics for being the first person to review! :) Thank you! Now, for Chapter 2!**_

* * *

"To succeed, you must fight not only physically, but with your mind as well." The blind man gestured with his worn, oak staff for him to try again.

Snarling in anger, Torak scrambled back to his feet, his abdomen aching from a brutal roundhouse kick administered just moments before.

"Whenever you're ready…"

Frowning at the lack of response, the blind man changed tack.

"Perhaps it is due time for a break?"

To anyone other person, this would have sounded like a kind offer from a caring mentor. But not to Torak. This was a compromise providing the easy way out, allowing him to run... run from... the problem - something he had vowed to himself would never happen again. A familiar pang of guilt jolted through him, but this was instantly quashed, and Torak returned his undivided attention to his mentor and the task at hand, his face a mask of indignation.

"Torak, it is clear from your silence that you're not prepared to continue. You need to be calm and collected to master this technique. The lesson is over." concluded his mentor firmly, completely oblivious to his student's inner turmoil.

For a second, Torak looked as if he was going to spit back a spiteful retort at the unintentional slight, but then he let out a roar and was suddenly pressing forward once more in a flurry of blows. Was the old man backing off? Torak could smell the unfamiliar scent of victory, and pushed on relentlessly. He faked to the left, and followed with a strong, full body swing to the head. Crack! The resonant sound of carved wood on wood cut through the peaceful morning quiet. Blocked - again. Gritting his teeth, Torak glared at his sensei, determined to defeat him for the first time, at whatever the cost. A jab at the old man's ankle. Easily parried.

And then, before he could even think of a follow-through, he felt the staff get ripped from his hands so violently, there was an audible pop as his arm parted ways with his shoulder. The bolt of agony from this dislocation was instantly accompanied by a series of sharp, but light raps on several vital points of the body. He'd fell for the bait, and the old man's counter-attack was perfectly precise and lightning fast as always. Once the shock and initial pain had passed, Torak felt his face flush in shame and frustration.

"You are not using your mind."

Not using the mind? The fool! He was as strong as anyone in terms of mentality! He would always fight on; he would never run; he would never give up. Never. He'd sworn it. He'd sworn it!

His mentor sighed. "Self-control, Torak. That is what you are lacking. I will not pretend to understand how you feel, but this is an obstacle you must face and overcome yourself."

The blind man turned back to his modest wooden abode nestled between the thick Freljordian forests and the northern Ironspike Mountains. As he strode off to prepare their evening meal of rabbit stew and coarse bread, he fired a last challenge at the young man.

"Face it, Torak. You will have to deal with your memories. Sooner or later."

His memories.

The something which had been tugging insistently inside Torak abruptly grew in strength. The pain in his shoulder faded to a mere twitch as Torak felt himself drift away from reality…

* * *

_Tentative flickers of yellow light illuminate the wood and brick huts, as torches are brought forth by the few brave souls in the village. The warped shadows which swirl to life in the faint light twist and turn in a grotesque dance, and the boy feels frightened. But he shouldn't be, he tells himself. He's 11, just two years from manhood._

_ "Help! Someone, pl-"_

_The men nearby lift their weapons with practiced ease and race silently towards the source of the desperate cry. The little boy sees how small the group of warriors have become. Hardly half a dozen. Before, the great big men in gleaming armour would shout victory cries as they rushed to fight off the creature that hunts on the darkest of nights. But now, all he can see are the hunched backs of broken spirits, broken in the face of a merciless and unyielding killer. Merciless and unyielding and the bringer of death. That's what the lunatic had proclaimed when he left the village. Only he doesn't seem even half as mad now._

_Be strong, have courage; he chides himself. Fight. Don't be a weakling. The little boy gingerly attempts to lift a massive broadsword left behind by the men - the comical efforts of his scrawny arms are as determined as they are laughable._

_"Tor, what are you doing out there? Back to the house!" The stern words of his grandmother float down the street towards him._

_But he shakes his head stubbornly. "I will help defend the village!"_

_'Don't be silly, Tor!" she retorts angrily. His only reply is to tighten his grip on the crude weapon._

_Her eyes soften, and she walks over and gently pushes him in the direction of the hut._

_"It's not your turn yet, Tor," she explains quietly. "Soon, you will get the chance, but not now."_

_"B-bu-but…" the boy protests weakly._

_Come on, little one."_

_In an instant, all the fear and uncertainty the boy's been bravely holding back comes flooding out, and his eyes grows wide as he glances at the shadows which are too dark to his liking, at the weapons which are too sharp to his liking, at the sky which is too clouded to his liking. Clutching at his grandmother's hand, he follows along meekly._

_As the pair arrive home, the boy finds himself directed towards the old, musty village barn at the edge of the hut. He asks his grandmother why, but she simply smiles tightly._

_"Why, grandma? We always stay in the hut…"_

_She pats him lightly on the cheek and smiles again, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. It almost as if she suspects something and is hiding it from him._

_"Just go, Tor. All will be fine."_

_Nonetheless, he complies like a good boy should, and trudges to his shelter for the night, his mind already focused on how he would make himself comfortable..._

* * *

_All will be fine._

_The words are a soothing balm on the boy's troubled mind. He repeats the chant steadily in his head. His grandmother is wise, and she is always, always right. _

_All will be fine. It will be. It _must _be._

_Suddenly, the sound of running footsteps breaks him out of his reverie. It's grandmother, bearing a freshly lit torch brand._

_"Run, Torak! To the woods, now!"_

_For a second, he's too shocked to move – grandmother just _shouted. _And… this is the first time she's ever called him by his full name._

_"Go – now! Torak!"_

_Then he's sprinting as fast as he can away from the barn, weaving nimbly through the undergrowth. Risking a glance behind, he sees grandmother struggling to traverse the uneven fields. He slows down, torn between survival and love. Another bound, another leap, another jump, and in the end he doesn't stop._

_The boy looks backwards for the second time: a mass of darkness, accompanied swiftly by a flash of silver and a spurt of crimson red. Grandmother's falling, falling, falling…_

* * *

**_A decade later…_**

Torak gazed long and hard at his most prized possession. It always brought back painful recollections, but he'd learned – courtesy of his mentor – to build up impregnable mental barriers and lock those thoughts in the deep recesses of his mind. It was getting easier and easier every day, yet the lack of emotion always gave his an achingly uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. That is good, he assured himself. Emotions are for the weak. His mentor had disagreed, but he'd respected his solution, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Returning his thoughts to the object is his hand, he couldn't help but marvel at his fortune and admire its intricate craftsmanship. No, not craftsmanship. No human could ever have created such a beautifully lethal weapon.

It was made of a singular piece of strange, gleaming, silver-coloured element. Metal, perhaps, though it was nothing he'd ever seen before. Its hilt was streaked with black, jagged veins, while the twin blades which extended along either side of the grip retained its pure, unblemished appearance. The only exceptions were queer engravings down each blade respectively. Torak had asked his mentor, and the runes of the Ancients had drawn a two-word conclusion from the markings:

_Pyr_ and _Cryo_.

Sighing, he lifted the surprisingly light double-bladed sword, spinning it deftly with two fingers. Time for training. Torak shoved open the door with his other hand, and stepped outside…

Only to find himself face to face with his mentor. They'd become firm friends over the years, despite their differences in character, yet his mentor had always insisted on a professional, detached attitude during training.

The blind man coughed slightly, the only hint of his masterfully concealed embarrassment.

"It's clear you can hold your own relatively effortlessly now, Torak," he said, pointing at his bruised left eye.

"A lucky strike," muttered Torak, though he couldn't help but bite back a grin as he remembered yesterday's duel.

"Being modest now, are we?" The other man raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Enough with the wordplay. I am honoured to announce I am no longer your mentor, Torak."

"Wha-? The hell? Lee Sin, what's going on?" Torak demanded.

The Blind Monk smiled. "It's not that hard to understand, Torak. You are good enough to be a warrior. You are free to go as you wish."

The young man staggered to his knees, unable to fully process the enormity of it all. _He was a warrior. Now, revenge was his for the taking._

"… before you decide to leave, Torak, I want to show you something..." Lee Sin continued.

Hardly hearing, Torak climbed to his feet and stumbled slowly after the blind man.

Yet all the while, the only coherent thought he had was…

_To complete the vow he had made a decade ago._

* * *

_**Reviews feed the soul! Well... not really, but they encourage me to write more, ok?**_

_****__**(Extra Note: I plan for Chapter 3 to be a little more light in terms of mood xD).**_


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